Hearth
by CelticPhoenixProductions
Summary: Struggles rarely conclude and often persist as life continues. But in some moments it is nice to sit back and reflect on past challenges, on the hurdles overcome, and to be thankful for the struggles of today. [Real World AU] "Souls Beyond Time - Part 11"


_~Forward~_

 _Installment eleven of 'Souls Beyond Time'!_

 _Well… this took a little longer than expected. I had completely intended this to be a flash piece, where it'd be a quick visit to show how things had progressed… And while it_ does _fulfill that criteria, it goes so much farther in some places. Still, I don't think it really suffers._

 _But enough of my blabbing, enjoy the penultimate installment of Souls Beyond Time!_

O/o\O

Suggested Listening: "Nux Walpurgis", _Puella Magi Madoka Magica OST_

O/o\O

 _Hearth_

Her world was rubble.

She winced as her hand sheared across a piece of exposed sheet metal, though she managed to resist the urge to flinch away; she needed to keep her grip, even with the blood pouring down her palm.

With another mighty heft, Homura managed to push herself over top the mountainous piled of collapsed concrete, wobbling to a stand in her stiletto boots. It was hard to see with her eyes half-lidded in pain, but once they finally managed to open, she had no problem keeping them wide.

The monstrosity was huge, easily the largest _thing_ she'd ever laid witness to in her short time on this planet. Six massive, serpentine limbs reached out from a bulbous center mass composed of cog and clockwork, an angular, emotionless kabuki mask mounted upon the spindly neck atop the monster's form. Around it the world sank and shimmered, its very presence warping the air that surrounded it into fire and pushing the Pacific seas deeper into shore to ground the buildings of Mitakihara to dust.

Gritting her teeth, she hefted the rifle from her back, taking aim at the abomination and letting off a single, desperate shot. The bullet erupted forth, causing her to stumble. She didn't even have the chance to see if it had done anything before her exhausted balance overcompensated for the recoil and tossed her forward, over the mound and back down to the thin layer of saltwater below.

She felt her temple crack first, then her nose as she landed face first in the pool, smashing through it to the concrete bottom within a fraction of a second. Her body came after that, the gun in her hand wrenching away and snapping her wrist at an awkward angle. A grunt escaped her lips, drowning in the water unheard to anyone else.

Homura rolled to her side, cradling her arm before trying to retrieve the gun with her free hand. What she grabbed instead was soft and malleable, but still firm enough to support weight. She looked down, finding her hand holding another; hand that is.

A severed hand.

The sickly girl looked up further, finding the rest of the limbs discarded along a path, their vital essence streaming gently into the ebbing surf. At the end of the trail lay a single torso, the head and neck shredded but still attached, just enough so for her to recognize Nagisa's still, lifeless form.

She starred for only a second, a gasp dying in her throat. Dropping the hand, she returned to seeking out her rifle. She found only a pistol in its place. Muttering a curse under her breath, Homura stood, letting her limp arm fall to her side.

The monster was still in the skies above, taunting every plan they had thrown against it. Homura began to step through the wreckage, careful to keep her eye on its eerie, motionless form.

She plotted her path, weaving through what was left of what she hopefully recalled correctly as the financial district. Time distorted, making minutes feel like hour or like seconds with every given foot.

And with one given foot she found herself stumbling yet again. This time, however, she managed to keep herself standing, only losing her sense of balance briefly before recovering. Homura blinked, chancing a glance at what had caused the issue. Her heart tugged as her eyes dragged across the still legs of a corpse; a girl a year older than her who's head had been smashed beneath a particularly large slab of concrete.

"Mami…" Homura whispered, her jaw aching as the words name it past her lips.

A bag of bile forced its way up her throat, but she managed to stomach it back down. Vomiting now would just make her feel sicker than she already was.

There was movement out of the corner of her vision.

The monstrosity, its form still and listless, shifted, gliding through the air with naught a flick of its limbs nor a bob of its head. It flittered overhead, flying past Homura and into the day's setting sun. In a moment, it shimmered before vanishing entirely, taking with it a number of building nearby.

Homura slumped next to Mami's corpse, eyes sallow and drained.

They'd failed. They'd all failed.

She looked to the distance where the thing had disappeared, finding a new figure that stood out amongst the rubble; a bob of blue hair and a white cape stained red, impaled clean through the abdomen on a section of rebar. She watched as Sayaka's legs dangled in the air, moving gently with every passing gust, the blood dripping from her wound flowing down in small spurts to a body in the shallows below.

Kyoko's fate seemed to have been more peaceful than the other three's. Her form was unmoving among the waters, her hands cupped together over a smattered series of deep holes in her chest that appeared as a blistering flower against what pale skin exposed by the wound.

This time she couldn't refuse the urge and what little stomach acid she had left made its way into the shallows, dispersing among the lapping water. Exhausted, she rested her head against the stone, her tongue stained with stomach, eyes closed amongst the lulling waves.

"Fatat alssihria!"

Homura blinked at the jubilant phrase, her armed hand reflexively pointing the pistol at the new entrant.

A young girl draped in middle eastern garb stood before her, black silken ponytail artfully drooped over her shoulder and eyes wide in a welcoming smile.

Homura blinked gain, rubbing her eyes with her snapped wrist.

She opened them again. She towered over the tan-skinned girl, gun pointed down at her head as the rest of her lie crushed beneath an onslaught of debris.

"Fatat alsshria…" the younger girl gasped, a single arm weakly reaching for Homura's gun.

Homura blinked again, only to find not the younger girl but instead a familiar tuft of pink hair beneath the barrel of the pistol.

Madoka smiled up at her, the grin tired and resigned as she guided the pistol to the center of her head.

Homura snarled and writhed against her own skin as her finger tightened around the trigger.

There was a flash as the world went white.

O/o\O

Suggested Listening: "Cubilulum Album", _Puella Magi Madoka Magica OST_

O/o\O

Homura's eyes opened.

Fingers clenched around molted cotton sheets, forefinger reflexively pulling and tugging at the well sewn fabric. A breath was lodged in her throat, leading to a lengthy, airy, and someone muted exhale that croaked around the ample living space with little resistance.

She cleared her eyes and tried to sit up, only succeeding halfway as a weight around her right arm kept her pinned to the bed beneath her. It took Homura a moment to register poof of pink nuzzling into her shoulder.

The raven girl frowned, gently letting her fingers trail along the pinkette's scattered locks, the silken material flowing like water over each pore and fingerprint. The smaller girl wriggled beneath the touch, mewling into the taller girl's elbow as she burrowed deeper beneath the blankets. Such a small, pure thing… well… not so much pure as radiant, Homura supposed. Still; to have such nightmares, to put the star of her life into such bleak situations…

Homura drew back, carefully prying herself away from Madoka, expertly using a series of innocent feints and tickles to escape while leaving her girlfriend asleep.

Girlfriend.

The word, despite being well aged, was still so alien to her. It was almost as old as the nightmares at this point, though exceedingly more pleasant.

She rose from the bed and touted out of the room, slipping a robe on over her pajamas and slipping on a comfortable pair of slippers. Her feet were as a rabbits, quietly thumping over the wooden floor as she trekked the hall all the way to her study.

The skyline of the world beyond was alight with street lamps and the occasional lit window, but otherwise Mitakihara was silent, or as silent as it would ever get at the blurry time of 4AM. In just a few hours the early risers would be preparing for their days, and yet here was Homura, only just awoken from two hours of restless sleep.

She gave a wry smile to herself as she woke her computer, going over to a small kettle in the corner to start some tea; the very term 'restless' sleep meant so little in this life than it did in her last one. Here she was safe, behind the walls of her own home, in the arms of someone she loved. No longer was she waking up at some nameless hour, panicking over the sounds of distant-but-alarmingly-close gunfire. Instead, her dreams were her only source of anxiety, pitching bizarre manifestations of her mind against her in some twisting echo of what hell she had experienced in years gone by. Oddly enough, the two seemed to have switched places; when she was away, trapped beyond hope, her dreams were her solace from a torturous reality. Now, as she has found herself a reality worthy of those dreams, the dreams became replaced by nightmares.

It was fitting, she supposed. She'd much rather have the life she had now over returning to those scant, peaceful dreams. At the very least, those dreams had helped her push forward and make something of the disaster that was her teenaged existence.

As the tea finished she returned to her desk, sitting down and pulling up the most recent manuscript, still half finished, taunting her with a number of missing threads, plots and characters. And, like she had so many times before, she dove to the bottom of the page, putting a significant distance between the last words she'd written and the ones she was poised to transcribe.

Homura sucked in a deep breath and meditated quietly on the dream, doing everything she could to recall each minute and visceral detail.

This was a practice long in the works, one that had already earned her some acclaim, though she was sure what she was attempting now was of a much higher skill level. Transcribing what had happened and having people laud it as 'brave' and 'awe-inspiring' was seemingly easy to her. It had only taken her a few months to pen the auto-biography of her time abroad, and it was thanks to that book and the remainders of her parent's fortunes that she had such a peaceful existence in the present.

But she didn't want to stay idle, and her mind would not rest; her experiences were easy to jot down, but the _feelings_ of what had occurred, of what had happened, were much harder to express. And while she had been hailed for her work tugging heartstrings something had always felt… disingenuous about what she wrote, like certain pieces of her emotions were absent from where they were supposed to be.

So she set out to try and quantify those feelings (or otherwise go stir-crazy from boredom), sitting down to pen her first truly original tale, something she hoped worked as well if not _better_ than her original novel. And, of course, her dreams played a role. Magical girls and faeries, monsters and mayhem; all perfect representations of those emotions that had felt muted before.

Of course, that was only in her writing, which still felt jilted and stale to her own tastes. She supposed that was the curse of all artists; to feel inadequate among the masterpieces of the past.

But yes, only her writing felt the suffering of the mundane curse. Homura herself, on the other hand, had been through quite the rollercoaster since returning. Coming back from the dead had a way of drawing attention, and there was no exception for Homura as the news and gossip circles had quickly catapulted her to the temporary status of national celebrity. She was more than willing to admit that the amount of scrutiny her life had suddenly gained was a major contributor to writing the auto-biography; repeatedly telling the story, over and over, each time being asked for more and more insignificant details had become tiring to the point where just putting it all in writing served as a quicker alternative to scores of lengthy, often repetitive interviews.

Though, she couldn't give all the credit to peer pressure. Mr. Kaname, Tomohisa as he'd insisted she call him, had been a gentle hand among a sea of pawing fingers, suggesting that chalking down her experiences would not only serve to lessen her 'responsibility' in giving the world an explanation but also serve as a form of therapy to come to terms with what had happened over the years. His words were rather encouraging and it was that warmth that finally gave her the confidence to put pen to paper (or rather, finger to keyboard) and hash out the first draft of her horror story. Of course, Mrs. Kaname, Junko, had _also_ weighed in on the suggestion and pushed her with a more… _firm_ hand to write, but the badgering was always good natured and only present whenever Tomohisa was the first to broach the subject.

She smiled now, fingers flying over the board, as she recalled just how tightly he and Mrs. Kaname had held her when they'd met again after all that time. Madoka really did echo so much of her parents; the calm, fuzzy, passive presence of her father and at the same time that energetic, confident and intelligent edge of her mother. The girl was a miracle that she could encompass such disparate natures so fluidly.

Not to say that Madoka was always like that. As collected as the pinkette was today, the girl was decidedly scattered when Homura had returned. Those elements that had defined her were still present but they were buried under a thick layer of slef-consciousness and chronic indecisiveness. It had been painful to see the gentle soul in such turmoil, and it was more than a relief that the two had pushed beyond those times… despite the brief periods of regression that would rear their ugly heads. Madoka would still occasionally fall into a slump and lock herself in their room and in similar fashion Homura would still occasionally tuck a combat knife beneath her pant cuffs out of unwarranted paranoia. Even the nightmares could be considered a form of regression, though by virtue of the fact that she hadn't woken up screaming and thrashing at an undead assailant it was a strict upgrade from where she had been at the beginning of their relationship.

For a brief moment, Homura stopped typing, giving herself a moment to lean back and reflect, thumb absently spinning the silver band around her ring finger.

Fiancé. It hit her again that she was still reflexively using 'girlfriend' when the correct term was 'fiancé'. Homura was engaged. She was alive and engaged to Madoka Kaname. There was no force on the planet, no terrorist or sandstorm that could tear the giddy, stupid smile that encroached on Homura's face. There was no way any of her dreams back in those hellish days had anything on this imperfect reality.

But such a sweet promise was no magic salve for the fact that both of them were still broken in some way; chipped at and chiseled into new shapes by the passing of time. It felt as though that quiet moment atop Mami's balcony had happened among another life. In fact, in mention of the blonde, it felt as though much of their circle of friends had gone through similar hardships, especially back when Homura had returned where their group operate disparately of each other, paired off in some unconscious fashion in order to weather the stormy emotions around them.

Homura had monopolized much of Madoka's time in those early days, and even now she was sure the pinkette doted far too much on her in comparison to the others. That led to a noticeable strain between the survivor and two of the other members from their original quintet. Mami and Sayaka had gone from close friends, a caring senior and a mischievous imp, to being rivals for her girlfriend's affection and time. Of course Madoka had filled her in, about the lengthy time spent with Mami, about indoctrinating Sayaka in for a collective relationship, and that knowledge, though gifted willingly in an attempt to stem further drama, still ate at her confidence. Even though she kept her unease well guised, the looming presence of measuring up to Mami had landed Homura in a number of emotional loops that took Madoka's chiding to break her away from.

Otherwise, the two were more stiff and confrontational with her when she had attempted to reengage in friendship with them. Mami, despite politely saying otherwise, was quite obviously still somewhat sore about what happened between her and Madoka, and the uncomfortable air that swirled between the three would not die out for a year following Homura's return.

Sayaka was less stiff and more confrontational, several times pulling Homura to the side to complain about how much Madoka's free time had been monopolized. Thankfully Homura had come to weather direct aggression rather well over the years, so she was less affected by the blunette's arguments, but there was a twinge of guilt when she looked back on her cold-shouldered approach to dealing with the situation. Sayaka, though much warmer in the present, still seemed somewhat irritated by how little time she had to spend with her best-friend-turned-almost-lover-turned-best-friend.

Which lead Homura's thoughts to the two key elements that had softened her return; Nagisa and Kyoko. If she were honest, her opinions of the two weren't of the highest caliber, since she occasionally found the younger girl more annoying than endearing and often found the older one more crass than necessary. But, the duo brought their own charms to the table, and she supposed that's what made them such good partners for Mami and Sayaka.

Mami was noticeably less lonely with the white haired high school student prowling in the background, and even when compared to how she had been back when Homura had been normal it was easy to tell that the two were more than incredibly happy sharing the unique bond that came with living together. Though, there was some question as to when Mami would finally notice the level of adoration leveled on her by her junior had stepped beyond the more platonic and familial realms; poor Nagisa, despite the occasional grating whining and screeching was left in the dark when it came to her emotions and both Homura and Madoka felt pity for the younger girl.

Sayaka, meanwhile, was more often distracted by Kyoko than she was soothed, often times with the redhead butting in to create her own form of drama with the blunette in order to sway attention away from her gripe with someone else. The spitfire was more intelligent than Homura had initially given credit; there was a jaded wisdom that Kyoko seemed to be imbued with, something earned through trauma that Homura had instantly gravitated towards. Despite her openly flamboyant and aggressive nature, the two shared a level of respect that didn't need to be spoken. And, unlike Nagisa, Kyoko's attraction to Sayaka wasn't kept secret, and in fact became a point of good-natured prodding during the first year and a half of them knowing each other (which was ultimately good, because two girls holding secret crushes would have been too much drama for Homura to handle, let alone care about).

For her part, Sayaka didn't seem to mind the romantic notions filtering between the two of them. Homura's understanding of the blunette's situation came from a number of differing sources, leading to a scattered piecemeal of what probably actually occurred, but by the sounds of it she'd had a rather major falling out with the boy she'd liked, leading to some kind of self-harm attempt a couple of times. Kyoko and even Madoka were light on the details, and Mami had a less than stellar view of how everything had gone down. Recovery was apparently slow for Sayaka, who (thanks to Kyoko) tried to be more active and not sequester herself from the world. And those efforts did pay off. She eventually eased up on her scrutiny of Homura, she was able to look Mami and Madoka in the eye, and even now she was making an active effort to repair what she could from the ashes of her friendship with Hitomi. The crowning point of all this was probably when, at the end of a trip to the pier with what had become their regular sextet, she'd brazenly and suddenly kissed Kyoko in front of all of them.

Homura stifled a chuckle as she thought back on the moment; seeing the normally cool and snarky girl suddenly completely flummoxed had been something of a scene, so much so that Homura regretted not having a camera ready.

All this left was the last of the original five, and arguably the most outlier among the newly formed group; Hitomi. Long before Sayaka had even attempted repairing their friendship Homura had decided to reach out to the grunette. Homura had recalled the girl as arguably the most composed one among the original five, rivaled only by Mami's ability to combine that composition with graceful humor. Now though she found the girl to be more a bundle of nerves than a well collected debutant. It had been an odd first meeting, but Hitomi had welcomed Homura back with open arms and in fact reveled in the regained connection, using Homura as a form of confidant.

The girl had been incredibly troubled over everything that had transpired with Sayaka, to the point she was having anxiety attacks about how distant she'd become from their circle of friends. Had it not been for Kyosuke's presence by her side, the girl might have done something as drastic as Sayaka. For Homura, the situation was surreal; typically she'd felt she'd been the one to most often confide in others, often to Mami or even Hitomi herself; but now she was on the receiving end of such confidence and it proved itself pretty rewarding in an incalculable way. It also helped that Hitomi shied away from any details to do with Homura's vanishing act; the squeamish girl was content with the bare basics of what Homura had described and restrained herself more than even Madoka ever did from digging for new tidbits, which was something that Homura could certainly stop to appreciate. She was sick of ridiculous struggle, especially since it was her work now; some mundane troubles were far more inviting.

It was only after Sayaka had proclaimed that she wanted to make amends with the girl that Homura finally got to use her new position to its fullest potential. To this day she'd been a critical mediator for the two to converse through, and she was especially pleased when Hitomi had mentioned that Sayaka was the front runner to be maid of honor at her wedding. While some would probably have taken that as a sleight against Homura and her hard work, Homura looked to it as a shining success; something than not only made her feel wanted but _needed_.

She stroked the silver band once more. Hitomi's wedding was in a couple of months and she calmly wondered when she and Madoka would finally tie the knot as well…

There was an admission that neither of them knew exactly when they'd get married; it was still illegal in Japan, even with word spreading around each province about upcoming elections. But Homura had sworn off plane flights for potentially the rest of her life, so escaping overseas was made a more difficult notion. Still, Madoka was content to wait, and as was she. Even if they were old and grey when it happened, so long as they stuck by each other, they didn't need some fancy ceremony or some document in a ledger at the city hall.

Of course, Mami had been opposed to that line of thinking. She came from a rather 'proper' family, and despite being orphaned (and of a markedly different alignment than her parents) she was still very staunchly in favor of weddings to cap off a relationship. Homura allowed herself an amused huff. She adored Mami, but the girl was almost as staunch as Hitomi when it came to the 'proper' order of just about anything. In similar fashion, Nagisa echoed the decree, leading Homura to subconscious label the teen a 'noisy little mouse'.

Sayaka was always one to jump in to defend the two, citing that 'love is love' and that Homura and Madoka would be okay together in their own time. The blunette's defense was a surprisingly welcomed force, especially considering how much bad blood the two had managed to work through.

From there of course the room would erupt into debate and argument, all of which was pleasantly lighthearted. Laughter and retorts, jokes and barbs.

Homura saved her document and put the computer back to sleep; she wasn't going to get as much work done as she'd hoped. Writing down the ideas her dreams had given her was about as far as far as she could push her delirious state this early in the morning.

She yawned, stretching her arms high as two warm, lithe constrictor's wrapped around her torso from behind. Homura let her arms fall, cupping the hands clenched just below her sternum. A gentle poof landed on her shoulder, rubbing into the crook of her neck as though a cat.

"You're up too early…." Madoka yawned, planting a light kiss to Homura's shoulder.

The survivor couldn't help but shiver at the contact. She smiled.

"So are you. Don't you have work in the morning?" Homura asked, reaching up and stroking near the pinkette's ear.

"I close the bar tomorrow. I told you, I like the night shifts…"

"Right, right; well, Counselor Kaname, does that mean you have time to stay up?" Homura asked, smiling more mischievously this time.

Madoka shook her head, "No… too sleepy… In the morning…"

Homura's playful smile softened and she twisted her head to kiss the bartender on the temple.

"Alright. C'mon, let's get back to bed, okay?"

"Mmmn," Madoka nodded.

Madoka didn't let go as Homura stood, forcing her to stand at a more awkward angle. Ultimately though, the two managed to make it back to their shared sheets, snuggling deep under the covers to await the break of dawn so it could be promptly ignored.

For Homura, moments like these, teetering on the edge of awareness and sleep, shared with the most beautiful woman on the plant… they were heaven. She could only hope that sleep would bring back those sweeter dreams that so reflected her current world.

Because right now, if only for a little while, her world was perfect.

O/o\O

 _~Afterwards~_

 _Okay, that's it, only one more until I'm done with this series as a fanfiction and I can pour my work into making it into a real, publishable collection of short stories. I'm all at once sad and excited at how close I am to closing this collection. Not to mention, I'm glad that I don't feel the need to continue expanding it ad nauseum like I did with this particular chapter._

 _I don't really have too much to say on this chapter. Every plot point I've hoped to cover is slowly coming to a close, every thread tying tightly around the corners. There are some outstanding questions that probably won't be resolved, but every important one has just about been touch upon and only one or two remain for the conclusion in the final installment. Homura and Madoka are living together, Sayaka and Kyoko are dating, Mami's happy, Nagisa's pinning (fjords, but also for Mami), and Hitomi and Kyosuke are on the verge of their nuptials. So much has happened and I feel rather satisfied. Hell, if the story were to end here, I'd probably be pretty fulfilled, but I won't leave you guys without at least one more treat ;D_

 _Now, if you excuse me, I'm going to go gush over the new ships birthed by the absolute joy that is Little Witch Academia. Go watch that show; it'll make you feel like a kid again!_

 _A friendly reminder though to all the good people out there that my P-a-t-r-e-o-n is still active and I appreciate any support! Just look up_ CelticPhoenix _and you should find me. Look! I even fixed the name!_

 _Also a reminder that commissions are open and will continue to be! I'm always eager to write more for people, so don't be afraid to shoot me a message or an email asking about fandoms, prices and concepts!_

 _That's all for now, catch ya on the flipside!_


End file.
